


Loose Lips Sail Ships

by Sophia_Prester



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Accidentally getting stoned, Bob is a doofus, F/M, Pining, honestly Alicia is the brains in the family, meet cute, mild second-hand embarrassment, spoilers for Jane Eyre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 04:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17801042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Prester/pseuds/Sophia_Prester
Summary: Bob has a crush on a beautiful actress, but there's no way she would be interested in him, so there's no point in trying to do anything about it, right?





	Loose Lips Sail Ships

**Author's Note:**

> As is so often the case, many, many thanks to Aishuu for her help and support with this.
> 
> This was originally written for the Bitty's Valentine Exchange, 2019

Bob was in love. 

Well, it was something akin to 'in love'. Kind of. Maybe. 

A few (okay, several) dramatically bad breakups had taught him that you had to know someone before you could say you were in love with them, and seeing someone interviewed on a stupid talk show while you were stuck at home on injured reserve in no way counted as knowing. 

So maybe it was fair to say that Bob was primed to fall in love with Alicia Andersen if he ever got the chance to meet her and she didn't turn out to be one of those people who was actually horrible once you got to know them.

Somehow, he doubted this would be the case. He wasn't a rookie any more, and he had learned from several (okay, many) dramatically bad breakups to spot the more obvious red flags.

The problem was, he wasn't sure how he would ever get the chance to actually meet her.

In theory, it shouldn't be difficult. He was Bad Bob Zimmermann, damn it, and he had met plenty of other celebrities at parties, charity events, and the occasional nightclub. In fact, many of these meetings were precursors to a number (okay, a lot) of dramatically bad breakups.

Maybe it was a good thing that everything he read about Alicia Andersen (it was a dark day when Mario found out he had bought an issue of Vogue just because she was on the cover) said she wasn't much of a party person.

Maybe he could meet her at some charity gala, because she did occasionally go to those (she was particularly vocal about funding AIDS research), but she was always quick to state in interviews that her idea of a perfect evening was sitting at home reading or running lines for whatever play she was obsessed with at the moment.

When his thoughts turned in those directions, he realized that a jock with a playboy reputation might not merit a second thought from her. It was one reason why he brushed off Mario's suggestion of having his agent call her agent and arrange something.

Another reason was that the whole idea sounded kind of gross. 

No, it sounded _really_ gross. One part presumptuous and one part transactional and one hundred percent slimy. If he tried something like that, Alicia would probably have him burned in effigy before efficiently trashing what was left of his reputation.

"Or get yourself booked as a guest judge on one of those stupid shows, or volunteer to help co-host something," Mario suggested after Bob explained his reluctance. "It worked for Wayne, didn't it? What's the worst that could happen?"

The worst that could happen was that the divine Ms. Anderson, a woman who probably knew all the plays of Shakespeare and all the novels of Jane Austen by heart, would have little use for a man who once bragged on camera that he technically hadn't graduated high school because he kept skipping art class to practice his slap shot. 

"I'll think about it," he said, privately deciding that it was safer not to take the risk. Not taking a risk meant not looking foolish. It meant not getting shot down, possibly in public.

Or worse, she could shoot him down in private and be _nice_ about it.

He wouldn't try to get in touch with her, and that was that.

* * *

Bob almost changed his mind a few times. 

The first was after the whole Danielle incident, the first breakup in a long time that wasn't dramatically bad only because she dumped him halfway through the first date.

"Bob, this has been fun, but... no it hasn't, because the whole time I've been sitting here, it's been clear you were wishing I was someone else." She got up from the table, all long legs and perfect hair and... well, he didn't really know much about her other than that, and didn't that say something?

(It did, and it wasn't good.)

She left the restaurant before he could apologize and before the waiter arrived with the very hefty bill. He hated to admit it, but she had been right. 

Bob got as far as rehearsing how he would bring up the subject with his agent before he told himself not to be stupid.

The second time was because he went to see Alicia's the latest movie even though it wasn't the sort of thing he would normally go see, given that it was based on a book he'd only pretended to read back in high school.

He was sneaky about going to the theater, sneaky enough that the other guys chirped him about being desperate enough to go to a strip club, but a few pointed hip checks during practice put an end to that.

The truth was, he almost snuck out shortly after he snuck in, because to his surprise and displeasure, Alicia Andersen was not playing the lead role. Some other actress had the role of Jane Eyre, and given the movie's nearly three-hour running time, whoever Alicia was playing might not be around for a while.

But then Jane's shitty aunt sent her to that shitty school, and her friend got sick, and _crisse_ , the poor kid _died?_

Well, he couldn't leave _now_. He had to stick around long enough to make sure Jane was going to be okay.

His first impression of Rochester was that the man deserved to be slammed into the boards, hard. Slew-footing was also an option.

By the time it was clear that _something_ strange and unwholesome was going on in the attics of Thornfield, Bob was so caught up in the story that he almost forgot why he wanted to see the movie in the first place.

And then, there she was.

He didn't recognize her at first. She was wild-haired and wild-eyed, barely visible in candlelight as she threatened Jane (who deserved so, so much better) with a knife.

By the time the truth came out about the madwoman locked away in the attic (and seriously, what the actual fucking fuck??) Bob was of the opinion that the first Mrs. Rochester deserved a hell of a lot better, too.

It wasn't anything like the glamorous roles Alicia Andersen usually took, and she was only on screen for maybe fifteen minutes, tops, but Bob thought it was the best thing she had done, ever.

When she was nominated for Best Supporting Actress, he felt just as smug as when his pet rookie got nominated for the Calder last year, and it took every bit of willpower he had not to ask his agent to forward his congratulations to her agent.

_Every bit._

The third time was a week later, on his birthday. He was sulking in the press box, serving the first of a two game suspension (on his birthday!) for beating the crap out of a highly deserving Cam Neely (so yeah, he was carrying a little bit of a hate-on for the Bruins from his Habs days) and feeling more than a little sorry for himself.

He wanted someone to talk to who wasn't a part of his team, or his support staff. He wanted to talk to someone who wasn't part of hockey, and wasn't that a new feeling?

It would just take a call, and then a follow up call, and he deserved to have something nice on his birthday, didn't he? 

But it would be kind of creepy to call her out of the blue like that, wouldn't it?

He didn't call. And if he didn't call, she couldn't say no.

* * *

In the end, it was the pills that did it.

At least, that was what he maintained the next day, the day after that, and every time he told the story in years to come. 

The Pens were in New York for three days. The trip had a game against the Rangers on one end, a game against the Islanders on the other, and Valentine's Day smack in the middle. A lot of the guys who were married or who had a serious girlfriend had big plans for the night, and PR and the press were all over it. 

More specifically, they were all over _him_. Bob's nickname wasn't just because of his reputation for starting fights. He was also known for leaving a string of broken hearted girlfriends behind (which wasn't fair, as he usually wasn't the one doing the leaving).

The nonsense started even before the first game.

"So, Bob. You have any big plans for tomorrow with a special someone?"

"No. I'm looking forward to a good night of rest between games." 

He fielded a few questions about his thoughts on facing off against Marcel Dionne before it started again with another reporter.

"I heard a rumor that maybe you and Christy Turling -"

"Ha ha. No."

And then another reporter.

"You can't tell me that Bad Bob Zimmermann doesn't have a hot - "

"Oh, yes, I can!"

And then another.

"I'm sure it wouldn't be hard for you to pick up some pretty young - "

At this point, Mario frog-marched him to the visitors' locker room because PR had declared that him literally growling and baring his teeth at reporters did little to 'foster a productive relationship with the press corps.'

It was a good game from a team perspective, and the win was needed if they wanted to secure a playoff position. It wasn't so good from a Zimmermann perspective, because a pileup early in the third period tweaked his back enough that he needed help getting off the ice.

The only saving grace was that he didn't blow his point streak and the back thing seemed to be just muscle strain.

"We'll put you down as a game-day decision for the Islanders," the team doctor said. "If you can get some rest tonight and tomorrow, you'll probably be okay. The trick is getting it so you _can_ relax."

The doctor handed Bob a small pill bottle with what sounded like two pills inside it. Bob fiddled with the child-proof cap while the doctor explained what to do with alternating heat and ice. "In there is some pain medication and a muscle relaxer. Go ahead and take them - "

Bob got the cap off and tossed the pills back without benefit of water.

" - when you get back to the hotel," the doctor finished with a sigh. "Just make sure you have someone with you until you get back to your room."

The one good thing about getting injured was that it got him out of doing press. One of the rookies got assigned to accompany him back to the hotel while everyone else went out to celebrate the win.

Any other time, Bob might have felt sad about missing out, but by the time their cab got them back to the hotel, he wasn't feeling sad about _anything_. 

He was one of the best damn hockey players in the world, he loved his team (he really did, he told the rookie - whatever his name was - he really, really did) and he _loved_ New York City, and tomorrow was Valentine's Day, and there was something important, something important he was supposed to do or say...

Oh! And here was this nice person with a tape recorder and his friend with a camera asking him about his Valentine's plans. How nice!

"I don't have any," he told the men, once he remembered that he should speak English. He swatted at the rookie, who kept on trying to interrupt them for some reason. "Nope. No plans. Not for me. But there's someone I would love to have plans with."

The bubble of happiness that had formed around him ebbed for a moment. He didn't have plans with her, and he doubted she'd want to have plans with him, and it was so sad that he just had to tell someone about it.

So, when the nice men asked him who that someone was, he told them.

* * *

Later, Bob wouldn't be able to say for sure what restaurant it was. He would remember the white tablecloths and romantic lighting and how his custom-tailored suit still didn't feel swanky enough for this kind of place and how his stomach tried to turn itself inside-out with terror.

Most of all, he would remember the tripping, tumbling beat of his heart as Alicia Andersen walked into the restaurant and stopped to talk to the hostess.

Film could never do justice to the gold of her hair, or the soft blue of her dress, which looked like it had been pulled down from the summer sky. The hostess nodded at her and then led her straight back. To him.

Bob staggered to his feet, and failed to bite back a curse when his back twinged. It was loud enough that a nearby couple glared at him, and Alicia raised an eyebrow.

Oh, this was getting off to a _great_ start.

He hurried to help her with her chair even though his back protested. "I am so, _so_ sorry about this."

She gave him a polite and questioning little smile, but said nothing.

"In my defense, not that I'm trying to excuse what I did, I had just taken a muscle relaxer and a pain pill?" He tried giving her a charming smile, remembering just a second too late that he was waiting for the off season to do something about that missing incisor. He tried for a closed-lipped smolder instead. "I didn't remember saying anything to that reporter until my agent and the head of our PR team both showed up in my hotel room to yell at me this morning. Actually, I _still_ don't remember saying it."

The shift in her facial expression was subtle, but telling. It was the sort of thing that she'd used to tell the audience _so much_ about the first Mrs. Rochester before she even uttered a word. She wasn't happy, but it was a different kind of not-happy than he would have expected from a woman who was probably badgered by her publicity team to go on a date she probably didn't want.

"Are you saying that you didn't really want to spend Valentine's Day with me?" 

For one crazy moment, Bob thought irony had struck in his favor, and she had been pining after him like he had been pining after her. But no, she was just curious.

" _Ouais_ , I wanted to very much, but only if it was something you wanted, too."

The brief lapse into French got a flicker of a smile. "The fact that your agent told mine you would understand if I didn't want to go to dinner was one reason I agreed to go."

"What was the other reason?"

Alicia rolled her eyes and propped her chin in one hand. "My agent wants to drum up a bit more publicity for my latest movie. Classic case of good critical reception but slow box office."

"What? Even with your Oscar nomination? Euh, I should have said congratulations earlier. Sorry."

She laughed, but it was kind, not mocking. He wanted to hear it again. "You really are Canadian, aren't you? But thank you. I'm delighted about the nomination, but best supporting actress isn't as much of a draw as best picture. I'd give up my own nomination in a heartbeat if we could have gotten that one instead."

"That's right. You were co-producer on that, weren't you?"

The look he got was one of unguarded, unfiltered surprise. 

"It was one of the best movies I saw in a long time, even though I was disappointed at first you weren't playing Jane. But that twist about the first Mrs. Rochester... " He whistled low and shook his head. "I honestly had no idea that was coming. And I love how even though you didn't have many lines, you could tell this woman had a whole life before that _crosseur_ Rochester wrecked it all. Euh, are you all right?"

Her jaw had dropped, but it shifted into a smile that started in her eyes. "Oh, yes. I was hoping people would get that from my performance. But you really had no idea about the madwoman in the attic? I assumed everyone who went to see the movie would already know the story."

"Alas, I am but an illiterate goon," he said, raising his wine glass in a mock toast. "I only went to see the movie because this hot actress had a supporting role."

He wasn't sure, but he thought her foot might have bumped against his. 

"You know, I normally don't like it when men comment on my looks, but from you, I find I don't mind. Now isn't that funny?"

Bob forgot how to breathe.

"So, you'd been wanting to ask me out for a while, but you had to wait until you were loopy on pain pills to do anything about it. Why?"

There were so many things he could say about being respectful and not a creep, and while these things were true, they weren't the _most_ true.

"I was afraid you'd say no," he said quietly.

"But I maybe I would say yes. And you would never know."

Bob huffed out a laugh. "That reminds me of something my friend Wayne says."

"Oh, is Wayne a smart guy?"

Bob waggled his hand. "He has his moments. So will you?"

"Will I what?" 

Her hand was on the table within easy reaching distance. He slid his hand towards hers, waiting for a signal that he had gotten this wrong.

"Say yes?"

She raised an eyebrow, but this time he saw the humor behind it. He placed his hand on hers, and the world tipped on its axis when she turned her hand over and gave a gentle squeeze.

"Well, you'll just have to ask to find out, won't you?"

He would. 

He took a deep breath, and he took the shot.

She said yes.


End file.
